


The Pythagorean Theorem or Ethan's Lips Squared Plus Benny's Lips Squared = Perfection

by Calacious



Category: My Babysitter's A Vampire
Genre: Benny's point of view, Boredom, Creative Grammatical Construction, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Made up words, Mathematics, Run-On Sentences, Stream of Consciousness, fragments, kind of cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bored Benny is a thinking Benny is a dangerous Benny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pythagorean Theorem or Ethan's Lips Squared Plus Benny's Lips Squared = Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of stream-of-consciousness featuring Benny's overactive mind. Another fic that I forgot I had; posted it on fan fiction, not sure many people liked it there -- someone left a nasty, non-constructive comment. 
> 
> Grammar is not perfect, because it's reflecting character thought patterns. 
> 
> I do not own the characters of this work of fiction based on the TV show, "My Babysitter's a Vampire," and am making no profit, monetary or otherwise, through the writing of this.
> 
> Would love feedback.

Reference made to season 2 episode 7, “Hottie Ho-Tep”

Benny was bored. Bored, bo…red, BORED. And it was only the first five minutes of class. How was he going to survive the next forty-five minutes? His eyes wandered, first to the clock on the wall – no big change, except it looked like the second hand had started going backwards – then to the teacher, Mrs. Harrigan – big mistake, because, where he sat up front (and how unfair was that? He’d only turned around to ask Ethan a question about something uber important that one time, and Mrs. Harrigan had said that he was too fidgety and that she was going to ‘keep an eye on him’ for the rest of the school year), he could see up her nose, and there was a booger the size of a small pea just sitting there, in her nose.

Times one hundred thousand zillion cajillion. And was that even a number? Probably not. He probably shouldn’t ask Mrs. Harrigan right now, not with her nostrils flaring like that and her breasts heaving like, uh, yeah, probably shouldn’t go there, might not make it back.

And yeah, he was right; the second hand of the clock is actually going backwards. Must be the work of some nefarious ne’er-do-well of a supernatural sort, the kind that he and Ethan and Sarah and Rory valiantly fight on an almost daily basis.

Boredom magnified.

Boredom times boredom quadrupled by boredom.

What does that equal?

Bore…dom.

Is boredom times boredom kind of like dividing by zero? Another question not to ask Mrs. Harrigan. Dry booger bomb in motion, kaboom!

‘Backward moving hand of the clock, I command you to move forward. No? Hmmm…okay, applying laser-eye focus, combining that with super mojo mind-blasting power, and…wiggly fingers. Kazam!’

Still moving backward. Must be out of practice, not that Benny feels he needs anymore practice, because borrowing trouble by thinking like that, not good.

‘Gotta move, right butt cheek falling asleep. Stretch, casual-like. Pretend like you’re picking your pencil up off the floor and Mrs. Harrigan won’t zero in on you. Danger. Abort. Danger. Abort.’

“Uh, sorry Mrs. Harrigan, could you repeat the question?”

Voice crack mid-sentence. Check. Tittering classmates. Check. Completely humiliated. Check.

Mrs. Harrigan, one.

Benny, zero.

“Mr. Weir, maybe if you paid less attention to the clock,” Mrs. Harrigan’s boobs are really, really big this close up, “and more attention to class, you would be able to answer the question.”

Benny scooted back in his chair, making some distance between himself and the well-endowed Mrs. Harrigan, who was old enough to be a friend of his mother or his aunt or maybe even his grandma. And big breasts were so not his thing, not that he had a thing per se, but if he did, it certainly wouldn’t be breasts big enough to knock him upside the head.

Oh no, narrowed eyes, pointing finger, thinned lips and peering over the edge of glasses. Mrs. Harrigan was not amused. Not amused at all. Quite the opposite of amused. The anti of amused.

Benny pictured Mrs. Harrigan wearing a gray cape with a great big letter ‘A’ stitched onto it. Goggles instead of her thick glasses. A skullcap not unlike what Captain America would wear completed the costume.

Super Anti-Amusement.

And yeah, laughter would not be of the good right about now, because it looked like Mrs. Harrigan might actually have lasers for eyes, and that, if she could, she would disintegrate him on the spot. Not bored now, but supremely screwed.

“Fine.”

Mrs. Harrigan’s nostrils flared, and Benny knew that he was not just imagining the smoke that came out of them as she straightened, giving him a little more breathing space. He blinked, slunk down in his seat, to get away from the impending flames, because it would so be his luck that Mrs. Harrigan was some kind of dragon or a supervillain, and he the next victim. He gave Mrs. Harrigan his best, most innocent-looking, ‘I’m sorry’, and ‘don’t eat me because I’m cute,’ smile that he could muster.

“Mr. Morgan, could you please explain the equation to Mr. Weir?”

Benny was not fooled by the smile on his teacher’s face, it was far too smirky, and it meant that he was in for a long, long thirty-plus minutes. Maybe the clock wasn’t going backwards after all, but it was moving at a snail’s pace, because more than fifteen minutes should have passed.

“Uhm, sure?”

Mrs. Harrigan snapped her fingers. “Don’t just sit there, come on up, sit next to Mr. Weir and explain the properties of the Pythagorean Theorem to him? Mr. Keaner, please switch places with Mr. Morgan for today.”

“Switching of places, excellent.” Rory was much too cheerful, given the circumstances. Being that Benny’s death was imminent, because Mrs. Harrigan, in spite of her devious smile, was clearly not amused.

But then again, Rory was always cheerful. Morbidly cheerful. Was it even possible to be morbidly cheerful? Morbid and cheerful, weren’t they anti each other? Maybe he also needed to pay more attention in English class.

The look that Ethan gave Benny was also not of the amused sort, but it wasn’t of the, I’m-mad-at-you, but-you’re-my-best-friend-so-I’m-going-to-pretend-I’m-not-mad-at-you, variety either. It was more of a, I-really-don’t-like-to-sit-in-the-front-of-the-classroom sort of looks, and help-because-I-really-don’t-understand-Pythagorean-Theorems-either.

“Alright class, get to work,” Mrs. Harrigan ordered and Benny glanced at Ethan, giving him the, what-are-we-supposed-to-be-doing-because-I-was-not-listening…again…sorry, look.

Ethan shook his head and pulled his desk over, and Benny tried to pull himself up a little more in his chair, but he was kind of stuck. Panic Will Robinson. Panic.

Ethan sighed and gave him a look that Benny found kind of sort of adorable, and wow, adorable? His best friend was adorable. And, huh, wait a minute. Adorable?

And not just adorable. Freaking adorable.

Further sinkage in his chair won’t help Benny’s predicament, not to mention it will only serve to make him look ridiculous in front of Ethan. Not that he hasn’t looked ridiculous in front of Ethan countless times before, mostly when they were kids, and then there’s that more recent time with the mummy, and accidentally bringing him back to life.

Still, gazing over the top of his desk into his best friend’s eyes with a help-me-I’m-stuck, look, probably won’t have the same effect on Ethan that Ethan’s, oh-no-how-can-I-help-you-without-drawing-embarrasssing-attention-our-way, look has on him.

Tingly. That’s the effect that Ethan’s worried look has on Benny. That, and it makes his stomach all butterfly-y, and churny, and, ouch, his neck will probably be stuck like this for weeks.

“A little help?” Benny gave Ethan his best, ‘sorry, but-aren’t-I-kind-of-cute-anyway,’ look, and lifted the hand not holding onto his chair for dear life, and wriggled his fingers.

Anymore slippage and his formerly sleeping butt cheeks would be on the floor, his back would be smashed against his chair, and why did they have the kind of desks that kids from the dark ages used to have anyway, where the chair was welded to the desk so that these kind of life-threatening situations were a possibility anyway? Shouldn’t they have been banned long ago? Like when things like corporeal punishment and the guillotine were banned? Or maybe the guillotine hadn’t been banned; maybe it had just gone out of style. Should probably also pay more attention in history class.

Torture devices should not be allowed in schools. Period.

Frowning, Benny tried to get his feet underneath him when Ethan grasped his hand. He used the hand he was grasping his chair with to push when Ethan pulled, and an agonizingly slow, not to mention painful, thirty seconds later, Benny was sending Ethan a grateful smile and stretching to pop the kinks out of his back.

“Thanks.”

He cast Ethan a big-eyed, hopefully not too-big grin, because Benny’s heard that he’s got a big mouth, and not of the way-too-talkative kind, though, he does talk a lot, and probably way too much. He doesn’t want to creep Ethan out by smiling too big, because whatever had gotten his stomach all twisted up in knots seemed to increase ten-fold when Ethan smiled at him.

“Anytime. That’s what friends are for.”

The way that the word, ‘friends,’ rolled off of Ethan’s tongue made the typically cool room – Mrs. Harrigan believed that keeping the temperature at just above freezing helped her students pay more attention in class; apparently Benny was immune to that – grow suddenly hot. Or maybe it had just made Benny hot.

Put them together and what do you got? Ethan, hot friend? Or hot friend, Ethan? Or maybe just, Ethan’s hot?

Should he have subtracted a word just then? Or should he have added? Like maybe the word, boy? Ethan, hot friend boy? Boy hot Ethan friend? Could the Pythagorean Theorem, not that Benny understood it, be applied to this equation? Definitely cannot ask Mrs. Harrigan about this.

Ethan, hot boy friend.

“So, the Pythagorean Theorem?”

Benny dialed his smile down a notch as he mentally backpedaled, because math class was so not the place to start thinking about his best friend as boyfriend material. Not that Ethan wasn’t his boy friend, he just wasn’t Benny’s boyfriend.

Not yet at least. Not that it would ever happen, because Ethan was all about Sarah, and, up until a few minutes ago, Benny had been all about, well, he hadn’t really been all about anyone except for Ethan, because Ethan and he had been inseparable since they were in diapers.

And then it hit him, and the classroom went in and out of focus, his vision darkened at the edges, and Ethan’s voice sounded much too soft and then too loud, and he couldn’t make out any of the words that his best friend was saying. What Benny did understand, though, once the funky light and sound show stopped, was that he liked Ethan, and not just as a friend who was a boy. He really, really liked Ethan.

Wow. Epiphanies were real. Just like his grandmother had said they were. He shouldn’t have doubted her though, because she did know what she was talking about.

Mind-altering, life-changing epiphany or not, though, Benny had to play it cool. He knew that nothing was going to happen between him and Ethan with Mrs. Harrigan staring at the both of them over the tops of her glasses and tsking beneath her breath as she shook her head in disappointment. Even she knew that Benny was not taking in a single word that Ethan was saying.

All that Benny could take in was just how cute Ethan looked when he was being serious. The way Ethan’s forehead scrunched up, and his lips got all pouty, and his eyes kind of darkened was far more interesting to pay attention to than any mathematical concept could ever, ever be.

“Ah,” Benny sighed, and nodded, pretending to understand what Ethan was saying, and he was rewarded by a tight smile from his friend.

“So, you get it now?” Ethan asked, raising his right eyebrow and tilting his head just a little to the left.

It was endearing and totally distracting, and Benny was now completely entranced by the shape of Ethan’s lips. His bottom lip was plump, the upper thinner, but not overly thin. His best friend’s mouth was, in a word, just right. Okay, so that was two words, but Benny was not all that good at math.

And suddenly, as Ethan spoke, his lips forming words that Benny really didn’t follow, it all clicked into place. The square of Ethan’s lips is equal to the sum of the squares of both of their (that is Benny’s lips and Ethan’s) lips combined. In other words, Ethan’s lips spelled perfection. Or maybe that should be equaled.

“You get it now?” Ethan looked at him expectantly. He frowned and his eyebrows furrowed in concern when Benny stared at him gape-mouthed.

Closing his mouth shut with a snap, Benny nodded, placed his cheek on his hand, and muttered, “Mhm.”

Before Benny could act on the impulse he had to close the gap between himself and Ethan, and test his theory that Ethan’s lips were in fact perfect by kissing him, the bell rang, and he was being dragged out into the hallway by Ethan who was eager to escape math class and go to lunch.

Benny let Ethan pull him down the corridor wondering how he was going to prove his hypothesis, and if it was, strictly speaking, okay to mix his mathematical metaphors, they were metaphors right? up with science. Yet another subject he probably needed to pay more attention in, because he wasn’t sure if a hypothesis came before a theory or if it was vice-versa, and was a theorem related to theories? If so, did that make math kind of like science? And if math was like science, why did they make everyone take two separate classes?

Benny bumped into Ethan and blinked down at his slightly shorter friend. Ethan had one eyebrow raised and his lips were turned slightly downward in a frown. If it weren’t for the steady stream of students passing by them in the hallway, now would be an ideal time for Benny to verify the validity of the Pythagorean Theorem as it applied to Ethan’s lips or prove his theory or test his hypothesis, or was that a hypotenuse? Was a hypotenuse a distant relative of a hippopotamus?

“Since it appears that you didn’t hear a word I said, I’ll choose where we eat today. C’mon, let’s go outside,” Ethan said, and he tugged on Benny’s hand.

Benny saluted. “Where you go, I will follow.”

It was beneath a knobby willow tree just off to the side of the school where even prying eyes could not see, that Benny got to test out his theory on Ethan’s lips. And, yes, Ethan’s lips squared, plus Benny’s lips squared, equaled the sum of perfection – namely Benny kissing Ethan, and Ethan kissing back. And the addition of tongue and fumbling hands to the mathematical metaphor, totally beyond perfection.


End file.
